


All I Need Is All Your Love

by skullage



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:06:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skullage/pseuds/skullage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. niall, harry, louis, and liam are all in a pub-rock band. zayn is their roadie. he and niall hook up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Need Is All Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> completely unbeta'd. i tried to keep the setting purposefully vague because i know nothing of london, but any horrible geographical inaccuracies are mine, and for the purpose of setting they're around about bethnal green/east london area. title from aiden grimshaw's "curtain call".

Harry tells him its an easy summer gig, forty bucks a night and whatever free beer they can scrounge up from any tavern they play, and Zayn figures it's better than busting his arse for minimum wage at Sainsbury's just to pay college tuition, and how hard can it be to babysit four boys anyway? So he plans to drive the van, help them load and unload their equipment, make sure they don't get screwed out of their money or spend too much of it, and _whatever you do, don't let Louis have the keys_. Since Zayn had never met Harry's ragtag group of muso friends, he took Harry's word for it that it was cool with them to have some new guy basically micro-manage their band life. 

He disn't think anything of it when Harry lingered a moment, keys tight in his fist before he handed them over. "They can," he started, and Zayn waited patiently for the punch line. "They're a bit of a handful." 

Even if Zayn had heeded it, that first warning was nowhere near enough to prepare him. Most nights, though, it's not the band he has to watch out for. He never factored in his own inability to control himself. 

After a dozen show and as many venues -- the kind that signify more of a drunken pub-crawl then Saturday night out with the boys, but Zayn's not complaining -- he's used to the music, the restless crowds that on any given night are prone to hurling abuse (abuse that Louis hurls right back with a gleeful, manic look in his eye like he lives for that shit), arguments over bar tables and flat, half-empty beer, getting stiffed on his share of money, and other nights having to pitch in to fit the bar tab. It's never dull, is the thing. He watches Niall sling back a third shot with some middle-aged guy who looks at least two decades too old for their nu-wave hipster grunge-core, but the guy still slaps Niall on the back and cheers for the next round. Niall glances over across the pub at Zayn as he slams the shot down, looking buzzed but not drunk, and raises his eyebrows in a silent invitation. 

Zayn feels a familiar twist in his gut at the sight, both at Niall's unspoken intention and the slight guilt of the knowledge that he's working a job, not getting paid to get his rocks off. Before he can make his mind up whether to ignore his libido or his obligations, he's jumped by the three other guys he's meant to be looking after. Harry's got four pints sloshing in his arms, and Louis launches himself onto Zayn's back with a cry of "Zayn, my boy, we're rock stars now!"

"Pub rock stars, Lou. Don't get too ahead of yourself."

Louis jabs an elbow into Zayn's collarbone, ignoring the protests of pain Zayn exhales. "That's not very supportive. Where's the team spirit? Liam played like a goddamn hero, and don't even get me started on Harry's vocals. Angelic," he punctuates, and Zayn can hear the wink in his voice that prompts Harry to grin like an idiot. 

"Gerroff me," Zayn grumbles, conscious of Louis's octopus legs around him, breath hot on the back of his neck, and the pub full of people around them. Louis climbs down, ruffles Zayn's hair as he does, and grabs a pint. Immediately he leans into Liam, who strokes a hand through his hair. The alcohol flushes Louis's nose and cheeks, eyelids drooping above the pout he directs at Zayn. 

"Good crowd, aye," Liam says, taking the pint in an uncharacteristically bold move. "No bottles thrown this time. Cheers to that." He chugs his drink down while the others stare. 

Zayn catches Harry's eye, and Harry shrugs, raises his own glass in salute. "Yeah, mate, cheers."

"To a good show," Zayn agrees, taking the last pint. 

"To a great show," Louis corrects, nudging Zayn's elbow. He holds the glass as Zayn drinks, pouring it down his throat until Zayn's laughing and coughing, beer spilling down his chin. 

"Oi, watch it," Zayn warns. 

"Lighten up, Malik, the night's still young."

Zayn wipes a hand over his mouth, pulls Louis into a headlock. "Quarter past one, Lou. Should be in bed by now."

"We did good, didn't we." Louis's watching him cautiously, their bodies pulled close, head rested on Zayn's shoulder. 

Zayn pulls him in more, whispers, "Yeah, you were great. Killer chords up there," and Louis smiles. 

Liam's finished his beer, looking flushed and still pumped from the show. 

Zayn tries not to stare. "You drinking tonight then?"

"Clean bill of health and all. Why not?"

Louis nuzzles further into Zayn's shoulder and distracts him from answering. Zayn catches Harry's eye again, but this time his brow is furrowed and he mutters, "Feeling left out over here," and Zayn has to laugh, lets go of Louis to indulge Harry's jealousy.

Louis immediately springs up and pours himself onto Harry with a cry of "Aw, sweetums," and Harry's answering expression when he lets himself be tackled is nothing short of beatific. 

Zayn checks his watch, shakes his head. "Alright lads, last call. Make it count. Got another gig tomorrow, don't forget."

Louis starts protesting almost immediately, slips his hand into Zayn's jacket pocket to grab for the keys with, "Gotta get something out of the van," and Zayn slaps him away. 

"Get out of it, Lou."

Beside him, Harry shakes his head, mess of curly hair jostling with the movement. "Told you," he sighs, but Zayn just laughs. 

"Alright lads, once again -- last call. Say it with me." They all ignore him, Louis's cunning eyes on his jacket and pouting as Harry slings an arm around his neck to keep him still, Liam pleasantly, happily buzzed, as Zayn makes his way through the pub. He'd lost sight of Niall, but his mind returns to the look Niall shot him what was probably only minutes before, and his stomach twists again. When he gets to the table, though, he finds it otherwise occupied. 

It's not like Niall to disappear on him. If he's not making friends with anyone charmed enough to buy him a pint, he's usually the one egging the boys on for another round, or just tagging along with whatever stunt Louis's trying to rope Liam into, but he's always reliable. He's always just a shout away. Zayn scrubs a hand through his hair, glances around the now mostly-deserted floor. No sign of the mop of blonde hair, no soft crooning for an interested ear, no flash of a smile blinding enough to make Zayn's eyes water. He makes his way back to the rest of the band, but sees only Louis attempting to play _Johnny Johnny_ with a coaster between Harry's splayed fingers on the table. 

The van is parked around a side street, all packed up and ready to take them three blocks down the road to their hostel for the night. Niall's not there either, like Zayn hoped he'd be. He takes out a cigarette, leaning against the van, scuffing his shoes on the pavement. The cold air turns his exhale into a puff of warm smoke that rises and disappears as quick as he can draw again, fingers fumbling and chill-bitten, the precipitation on the van door seeping through his jacket. He leans his head back, too, closes his eyes. Feels another presence before he hears it, before the cigarette is snatched from his lips and Niall says, accent cutting like a saw-blade through the silence, "Terrible, Malik. What would your mother say?"

When Zayn opens his eyes lazily Niall's got the cigarette raised to his own lips, inhaling. The sight is a punch to the gut -- Niall with his cap pulled low, sweatshirt hanging loose off his skinny shoulders, exposed skin still ruddy and flushed from the drinking or the gig or the cold -- and Zayn pauses to catch his breath. 

"Probably she'd say, 'Beware false prophets disguised as harmless sheep', or something like that."

Niall flicks the ash of the cigarette, hands it back over but steps closer as he does, leaning against the van. Their fingers brush, Niall warm where they're pressed together despite their layers, like cold nights in heater-less rooms with the five of them huddled together on one bed for warmth because classy joints aren't in their pay-grade but they're getting there, or warmer nights when it's just him and Niall and they huddle close anyway. 

Zayn takes another drag of his cigarette. "Looking pretty good up there, Niall," he says. 

"Yeah?" comes the answer, eyes darting between Zayn's and the smoke pillowing from his nostrils. 

"Yeah, you all are. Looking like a proper band and everything."

Niall smirks. "Now there's an idea. Think we should start one? Always wanted to be in a band."

"You're joking, I was totally just thinking that." Zayn tilts his head back again to exhale above their heads, a curl of smoke that echoes the curl of warmth in his stomach when Niall steps closer. Their bodies fit together so easily now, already past the stage of awkward elbows and muffled pain into Zayn's mouth when he kissed too hard and Niall's braces hurt that didn't last long anyway, three, four days at most. Zayn wraps an arm around Niall's waist like habit, melts into the hug the way Niall melts into him, face pressed into the crook of Zayn's neck, smelling like a bar and a gig and the band Zayn's a part of all in one. Zayn drops the cigarette on the ground and it hisses as it dies in a puddle. 

Niall pulls back with an open smile and Zayn realises they're not pressed against the van anymore, that he's leaning into Niall's space to kiss him, unhurriedly, unashamedly, in the middle of the empty street. Niall kisses back just as slowly, licks into Zayn's mouth and sighs. Tangles his fingers in Zayn's hair, slides his other hand under Zayn's jacket around his hip. The warmth in Zayn's stomach spreads to every place they touch, crushed together in the road and breathing harshly like a traffic collision, the kiss turning frantic as they scrabble at each other for purpose until they break apart to gasp for air. 

Zayn's rests his head on Niall's shoulder and just breathes. 

"Missed you," Niall says, and Zayn bites back a laugh because it doesn't sound like a cliche, like the melodrama of the moment is taking them hostage, but because it's ridiculous that Niall could miss him enough in the last four hours to want to voice it, even if no one's around and it's not some big gesture, not running after Zayn through an airport as final boarding call blares throughout the speaker system. Feels a little like that, though. Like missing your plane. Like getting hit by a car. 

"Missed you, too," he says. And Niall's grinning back, pressing their mouths together again. 

From around the corner they hear voices shouting drunkenly, Louis's loud and obnoxious ringing out, their names in the snatches of conversation growing louder as they draw near. Zayn mumbles a quiet, "Crap," disentangles himself from Niall. "That's us then."

Niall tilts his head, pouts cheekish like he's got other ideas. He waits a beat, then clasps Zayn's hand in his own, warm fingers and sweaty palm, pulls him down the street away from the direction of the voices. 

"Guess not then?" Zayn lets himself be pulled. 

"Nah, night's not over. See?" He points along the street to the light spilling out of open windows, noise trickling into their isolated world from the bars and homes they pass. "Can't give in that easy."

They zig-zag along the street, laughing to themselves like kids on a sugar-high, feet slapping against the wet pavement. No one looks at them as they go, passing them too quickly to get to them, drunken old dudes as hyped up as they are, the hood rats in groups of two or three, a homeless guy pissing next to a dumpster. 

"Where are you taking me, Niall?" Zayn gasps after a couple blocks and they stop, look around. 

Niall turns back to him, flushed, pale skin shining in the lamp light, looking at once like a lost waif and completely at home in London's back streets. Zayn keeps those images of Niall close to his chest, buried under his ribcage. "Dunno," Niall answers slowly, "ever gotten a blowjob in a dirty alley?"

Zayn belts out a laugh that echoes off the cobblestones. "The others are gonna be pissed. Locked out of the van." He digs around his pocket to prove it, but finds only his phone and cigarettes, keys disappeared. He starts with a grip of cold fear before he realises. "That fucker."

"Who?"

"Louis, he took the keys. He always does this."

Niall pats him on the back. "Mate, the Tommo's pretty good at getting what he wants."

They keep walking, pulled along by momentum and stupidity until they hit another long street that feels vaguely familiar, a story someone told Zayn once, a memory wrapped in fog and left to gather dust. 

"Wait," he says softly, and Niall stops, waits for him to continue. Zayn keeps walking down the street, gestures for Niall to follow. "There's something up here I wanna show you."

Niall follows him quietly, brushing elbows as they walk, breathing evening out until they reach it and Zayn stops. 

"Art gallery?" Niall guesses.

"Yeah, something like. Didn't know it was still here. Can't remember the last time I went in."

The building is dark, but the glow from the street lamps illuminates enough of the front to see inside, the first few paintings tacked onto the stucco, one wall covered in wire mesh like a chicken cage, sculptures set into the floor. 

"Looks pretty new. Renovations? Nice place."

Zayn smiles. "Always wanted to have something to put in a place like this."

Niall takes his cap off and scratches at his scalp. "You're an artist?"

"Yeah, little bit. Was gonna go to art school, but didn't get the grades."

"Sorry, man."

Zayn shrugs. "Turns out bands are more my thing, I guess."

Niall pulls him into a hug, kisses his temple. "Glad you figured that out."

"Yeah, me too."

They wait for a minute, staring in, until Niall takes his hand again and they walk back the way they came. "Just think, though. In ten years you'll be saying you roadied for the greatest indie-rock-electronic pub band in East London."

Zayn shakes his head. "You reckon?"

"'Course, man. It's nothing but blue skies from here."


End file.
